May 2016 Fan-Fiction Writing Contest

A great opportunity for writers to showcase their talent.

Moderators: Feral Female, Miles_Warren, Feral Female, Miles_Warren

May 2016 Fan-Fiction Writing Contest

Joined: 03 Oct 2013, 20:56

02 May 2016, 22:24 #1

See the link below for the rules:


Modifications to the rules:

1. If Miles Warren or Feral Female decide to take management of this competition, they have full authority to do so.

2. At the end of the month, in the absence of Miles and Feral, votes must be submitted to Big Thunder's PM account.

3. As before, votes (2) must be submitted by anyone entering. No votes will result in a disqualification.

4. Competition ends on May 31.

5. ALL voting begins on May 28 at 4pm EST and ends on May 31 at 11:59pm. Entrant voting and reader voting will take place at the same time.

Good luck to all entrants!

Joined: 03 Oct 2013, 20:56

02 May 2016, 22:27 #2

The winner tally, so far:

November 2013 Winners
Invincible - Issue#28 - Anger Management by Feral Female (1st win)
Violet Avenger Annual #1 – Push by darktruth (1st win)

Decemberber 2013 Winners
Bumblebee Man (part 1) by Miles_Warren (1st win)
2013 Holiday Special by Mister_Oz (1st win)

January 2014 Winners
Song of Selwyn. Capter 1 - secret love by darktruth (2nd win)

February 2014 Winners
Marvel SW: Arsenal, Chapter 3 by Big Thunder (1st win)
Song of Selwyn-Chapter II-A Ranger Falls by darktruth (3rd win)

March 2014 Winners
Heavy Metal- issue #3- Welcome to the Jungle by Feral Female (2nd win)

April 2014 Winners
Hail HYDRA by darktruth (4th win)

May 2014 Winners
Outstanding Avengers by xMatt (1st win)

June 2014 Winners
Marvel Star Wars: Hulk, Chapter Four by Big Thunder (2nd win)
The Outstanding Avengers #43 by xMatt (2nd win)

July 2014 Winners
The Outstanding Avengers: Part Three by xMatt (3rd win)

August 2014 Winners
Heavy Metal #7 – Haunted – Feral Female (3rd win)

September 2014 Winners
Marvel Star Wars: Chapter Twenty-Nine by Big Thunder (3rd win)

October 2014 Winners
The Balance of Power Chapter Five: Discoveries by GreenScar1990 (1st win)
Heavy Metal - Issue #9 – Haunted by Feral Female (4th win)

November 2014 Winners
Balance of Power - Chapter Six - the Bonds that are Formed by GreenScar1990 (2nd win)
Marvel Star Wars: Arsenal - Chapter Seven by Big Thunder (4th win)

December 2014 Winners
The Balance of Power -Chapter Seven: Emotions and Revelations by GreenScar1990 (3rd win)

January 2015 Winners
Heavy Metal - Issue #11 – Haunted by Feral Female (5th win)
Ant-Man? by Ewkada (1st win)
Ultimate Flash #1 - A New Kind of Enemy - Part One of Two: "Red and Blue" by xMatt (4th win)

February 2015 Winners
Heavy Metal - Issue #12 – Haunted by Feral Female (6th win)

March 2015 Winners
The Clowns Come at Midnight by Miles Warren (2nd win)

April 2015 Winners
Outstanding Spider-Man: Chapter 5 - Your Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man Part 1 - My Long Day - In the Morning by silverspidey4ever (1st win)

May 2015 Winners
Marvel Star Wars: Guardians of the Galaxy, Chapter One by Big Thunder (5th win)

June 2015 Winners
Untitled Thor story - Ewkada (2nd win)

July 2015 Winners
Heavy Metal issue #16 - Caught Somewhere in Time (Iron Maiden) - Feral Female (7th win)

August 2015 Winners
Love is Shell Chapter 27 - Interlude: Donatello's Digital Diary - MsMarvelDuckie (1st win)
DON'T ASK - xMatt (5th win)

September 2015 Winners
Awaken - Big Thunder (6th win)

October 2015 Winners
The Balance of Power Chapter Five: Discoveries by GreenScar1990 (1st win)
Heavy Metal - Issue #9 – Haunted by Feral Female (8th win)

November 2015 Winner
Spangle #35: Happy Worst Day by Mr. Oz (2nd win)

December 2015 / January 2016 Winner
Dungeon Crawl by Darktruth (5th win)

March 2016 Winner
Hell Spawn by Magneta (1st win)

April 2016 Winner
Marvel Star Wars: Prelude and Chapter One by Big Thunder (7th win)

Joined: 03 Oct 2013, 20:56

02 May 2016, 22:28 #3

I made a correction with the list. Feral Female has won EIGHT and not seven contests.

Doc Omega
Living Tribunal
Doc Omega
Living Tribunal
Joined: 14 Jul 2008, 09:24

03 May 2016, 23:35 #4

I just finished this one, so it'll be my first entry

The 13


June 3, 2011: Log entry, Kenichiro Harada, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of the Congo 1900 hours: Agents Carpenter, Nash, Hunter and I make contact with on scene W.H.O. representative Dr. Marshal Taylor. Dr. Taylor has filed a report of a potential outbreak in the local clinic. Upon arrival we were shown 4 patients exhibiting severe flu like symptoms.

June 5, 2011: Log entry, Kenichiro Harada, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Cinta Clinic 0800 hours: 10 new cases have been diagnosed. It has now been determined that the virus is not airborne, but is spread via contact with bodily fluids.
Director Fury has informed my team that new cases are appearing all over the globe. We have been recalled to the Helicarrier.

June 10, 2011: Log entry, Kenichiro Harada, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

SHIELD Helicarrier 2100 hours: The Congo, along with the rest of Africa has descended into anarchy. It took my team 5 days to fight our way back to the base. Along the way both Nash and Hunter were lost. In that time the virus has been declared a pandemic. Severe flu symptoms along with an ever increasing fever resulting in a brain hemorrhage. Death occurs on average in 72 hours.

July 15, 2011: Log entry, Kenichiro Harada, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.

SHIELD Safe House, Tibet: In just over a month the pandemic has ravaged over 40% of the global population. Communications began to fail late last month but before they did reports were flooding in about victims of the plague reanimating and attacking the living. Most appear to be near mindless, with the exception of metas. They appear to reanimate with their powers and minds intact, however consumed with a hunger for the living. I relocated here when the helicarrier was destroyed. I have not received a report in over a week. I am forced to assume that SHIELD is gone and that the world is ending.
This is my final entry as an Agent of SHIELD. I must look after my family now; it has been an honor to be of service.

August 30, 2011: Personal log entry, Kenichiro Harada

Safe House, Tibet: When SHIELD fell my wife Julia reassumed her identity as Arachne and returned to the United States to assist the Avengers. I have received only one communication from her in which she said our world was doomed. The communication contained detailed instructions from Daniel Rand on how to locate the entrance to the mystical city of K’un Lun. Julia begged me to take our 3 year old son, Kane there where he might be safe. Kane is young but very strong for his age. Will honor his mother’s wishes and begin our journey in the morning.

September 7, 2011: Personal log entry, Kenichiro Harada

Mountain Entrance to the city of K’un Lun: It took longer to make it here than expected. The battles with the chaotic living and the hordes of the dead have taken their toll on me, but I have reached my goal and now my son can be saved. An emissary of the city, Lei-Kung, has agreed to grant asylum to my young son Kane. It breaks my heart to leave him but I must return to New York and find my beloved Julia. If she is alive then I will bring her here so our family can be together. If I find her other than alive then the undead will feel the wrath of the Silver Samurai.
No Further entries Found


The year 2025 (present time):

The rain, dark and gray, beat down onto his dark red hoodie soaking his head as if it weren’t even there. His features were shaded but his blazing crimson eyes burned thru the shadows that covered the 6 story brownstone in the middle of the Bronx.

Kane stood as a silent guard. He felt the weight of his weapons and did a mental checklist of them all..the katana on his back, a dragon dagger on each hip and the multiple throwing stars secured in his tactical vest. The streets around the brownstone were littered with the reanimated dead. They appeared to wander with only one purpose, to seek out any remaining living humans.

They were easy enough to avoid, especially for someone of his abilities and training but what he loved more than anything else was to kill them. Just as they hungered for his flesh he yearned for their destruction. These things had taken everything from him. First the family that he barely remembered and then his second family, the people of K’un-Lun, as the virus had found its way to even them.

As he kept watch Kane’s thoughts turned to the people he protected. They were hardly his new family, but they were 12 people that had survived by sticking together, especially under the command of his mentor, Magneto. Magneto had explained to him once that although all survivors were important, Kane and he were special because of something called mutant. None of that mattered to Kane, only his duty to protect them at home and on missions. But he never told that to Erik. The wind suddenly kicked up, blowing Kane’s hood to the side and revealing his “13” tattoo that took up most of the right side of his face. He had requested the marking do to that not only being his order of joining with Magneto’s group but it also signified how many years of training he’d had with Lei-Kung. Dr. Sofen had been kind enough to give him this mark. Her touch had made him uncomfortable. He felt she had taken a liking to him, which he wasn’t sure was a good thing.

The moon would be up soon and it jack would transform and take his guard shift. The dead were mostly a non-threat. They had no way to locate you unless you foolishly revealed yourself to them. However the metas were different. Still intelligent and well aware of our group’s existence, they continued to hunt for us. In his melancholy trip down memory lane Kane had nearly failed to notice one.

A fair sized mob of the dead were shambling down the battered street and in their midst was one that tried to use them as concealment. A good strategy if this one was trying to sneak up on anyone else. But he was Kane and his senses cannot be fooled.

Counting the group to be 20 in all Kane pulled his hood low and his scarf up over his nose and mouth, it’s special mesh had been designed by T’Challa and prevented you form ingesting or inhaling any of the dead’s bodily fluids, without a sound Kane back flipped off of the roof.

Creed walked in the middle of his platoon of the dead. He had good intel from her that Magneto and his living allies were in this area. He had to walk slumped down because the size of his undead body made him stand out against the rest of his pack and in this situation stealth was key. They neared the end of the block when the sounds of something metal cut thru the silence of the heavy night air.

Four of the zombie’s heads came apart as an equal number of glowing red throwing stars passed thru them like hot knives thru butter. Before their now headless corpses could hit the asphalt Kane was upon them. With a glowing dragon dagger in each hand he ended two more of the pack, turning he ran up the front of another zombie like a staircase, a powerful kick served not only to smash it’s head, but to propel Kane thru the air and behind three more zombies which were killed quickly by his blades “Eleven down, eight to go plus Creed” quickly ran thru his head as he calculated each future strike and block. The air hissed as he drew his katana, the blade came to life with an almost evil crimson glow. Within less than a minute all the dead were felled except for the undead Sabretooth.

“You must be him?” Creed growled “She’s spoken of you often and with respect”.

Kane‘s silence was his only answer, his training had taught him that meaningless banter with an opponent served only as a distraction. With a snarl Creed launched himself at Kane, easily side stepping the clumsy attack Kane turned to face Creed who was mounting yet another assualt. This attack was as easily avoided as the first, Kane began to feel over confidence creeping in when he realized he wasn't being attacked, but herded.

Sensing an attack coming from behind he wildly threw his body forward, but not quickly enough to avoid the painful impact to his spine. The strike sent his katana skittering across the pavement with a metallic rattle. Ignoring the pain Kane rolled to the left, regaining his feet and drew his dragon daggers. As he faced down his new opponent, an undead Toad, he quickly assessed his injuries. The strike had probably bruised him severely, but it had not penetrated the body armor beneath his hoodie.

“You wont be so lucky a second time!” Toad stated as an orange and green foam bubbled from his mouth.

Toad feinted a lunge and then struck out at Kane several times with is prehensile tongue.

Kane, now ready, moved like a red and black blur, dodging each attack while slashing out at the slimy tongue with is daggers. Toad momentarily ceased his attacks, possibly to save what was left of his tongue, but most likely because Creed was now set to attack from Kane's blindside.

Anticipating the attack Kane ducked under Creed's slashing attack, stabbing him in the chest with his dagger, then dropping down to sweep his legs, finishing off his barrage with an open hand strike to the back of his Creed's head. Immediately he realized he hadn’t hit Creed nearly hard enough. Although the human zombies became much less durable, the metas retained theirs.

Retreating into a defensive stance Kane was again assaulted by Toad. Toad's kick landed however Kane brought up both arms to block his follow up strike. As Creed began to rise Kane realized he needed to end this soon or his chances of survival would be tragically impacted.

Although Kane didn't posses the same strength as his mother his reflexes and agility far exceeded hers. His roundhouse back kick didn’t even register in Toad's mind until the impact shattered his spine and his zombie legs failed him. Kane's right arm lashed out and a stream of psychokinetic webbing, ablaze with red tachyons, erupted into the air. It created a netting around the head of Toad and with a flick of Kane's wrist he pulled the netting back, shredding Toad's head in the process.

As Toad's head fell apart, Kane felt Creed's body slam into his , taking him to the ground. As they fell together Kane spun to face Creed, slamming his blade under his chin and up into his head.

Creed, now nearly insane with hunger for flesh, hovered over Kane. His fangs coming ever closer and blood mixed with saliva dripped onto Kane's face mesh.

“You missed the brain kid” gurgled Creed. His zombified mouth opened to bite Kane when an ear piercing howl shattered the night.

From behind, large claws pierced Creed's skull ripping in in two. A feral face stared down at Kane with an expression of relief on it.

“Thank you Jack” said Kane. “I suppose you're on guard duty now?”

“Get yourself looked at and get some rest” growled out of the werewolf's mouth. “I'll keep watch”

Kane only nodded and melted into the shadows. Gone to nurse both his injuries and his wounded warrior pride.


Eternal Nightmare
Joined: 21 Jun 2008, 01:11

05 May 2016, 20:30 #5

Peter Pan and the Pirates

The Cat’s Eyes

I don’t own Peter Pan and the Pirates characters.

Worry filled Smee’s eyes after Peter Pan and the Lost Boys flew from Captain Hook as usual. *Peter Pan always plays tricks on Captain Hook* he thought. He saw a scowl on Captain Hook’s face. Smee glanced at the hook where the latter’s hand used to be. He began to tremble. He shook his head.

Captain Hook’s scowl and hook were frightening together.

*Sometimes Captain Hook places the hook near my throat depending on how mad he is. What is he going to do this time?* Smee thought. He still trembled after Captain Hook turned to him. Smee stopped trembling the minute the latter abandoned him. He tilted his head to one side. That was when he followed Captain Hook.

‘’Sir, I am certain we can capture Peter Pan if he flies to us again,’’ Smee said.

Captain Hook never said anything before he entered his chamber.

Smee watched as the other man closed the door. *Captain Hook is probably exhausted now. I’m still a little worried about him. Perhaps he is sick. I can check on him after a few minutes.* Smee turned and viewed Starkey standing near Billy Jukes.

‘’Captain Hook never threatened us this time,’’ Billy Jukes said to Smee. He seemed thoughtful. ‘’Maybe Captain Hook forgot to threaten us.’’

Smee faced the door another time. He approached it.

A shocked expression formed on Starkey’s face. ‘’Are you actually going to bother Captain Hook? He is probably resting now, Smee.’’

After opening the door, Smee stepped into the chamber. His eyes settled on Captain Hook. He watched as the latter rested under a blanket. Smee walked to the bed at a snail’s pace.

‘’Cecilia,’’ Captain Hook muttered.

Smee blinked twice. *Cecilia?* he thought. He tilted his head in confusion. *I guess Captain Hook is just exhausted.* Smee walked out of the chamber. He closed the door and faced the other pirates.

‘’Captain Hook muttered a woman’s name while he rested. He was probably exhausted earlier,’’ Smee said.

‘’Mummy? Captain Hook is obsessed with his mother,’’ Starkey said.

Smee shook his head. ‘’Cecilia,’’ he said. He watched as Starkey and Billy Jukes shrugged at the same time. ‘’Captain Hook never mentioned Cecilia until now.’’

Smee glanced at the sky prior to a smile. ‘’Maybe we can try to find Peter Pan’s hideout. We’ll capture Peter Pan and bring him to Captain Hook. We will never be threatened again.’’

Billy Jukes and Starkey smiled together.

‘’Good idea,’’ Billy Jukes said to Smee. He and the other pirates got on a side boat. They rowed to shore. Their eyes widened as soon as a white cat ran to them.

‘’A stray cat?’’ Starkey muttered as he tilted his head to one side in confusion.

‘’We can bring the cat to Captain Hook instead of Peter Pan. Captain Hook might like a pet,’’ Billy Jukes said.

‘’Are you forgetting about Captain Hook’s parrot?’’ Smee asked.

Billy Jukes looked sheepish.

‘’Captain Hook is not going to like the sight of a cat eating the parrot,’’ Starkey said to Billy Jukes.

‘’Short Tom can fly from the cat,’’ Billy Jukes said. He lifted the cat and held it. He smiled as it purred in his arms. Billy Jukes eventually released the cat after he returned to the ship with Smee and Starkey.

Captain Hook stood by his chamber door. His eyes widened after the trio approached him with the cat. He saw the animal’s blue eyes. Captain Hook shook his head and stepped back.

‘’Cecilia’s eyes!’’

‘’Cecilia?’’ Starkey muttered.

Captain Hook frowned at the trio. ‘’Cecilia was my betrothed years ago. She discovered my lies about my pirate days. She refused to marry me,’’ he muttered.

Starkey gasped. ‘’You almost married a woman?’’ he asked.

Captain Hook’s frown remained after he saw the cat again. ‘’Cecilia returned to me.’’ He placed a hand near the cat’s face. ‘’Do you remember me at all, Cecilia? Are you going to forgive me now? I’ll understand if you scratch or bite my hand. I’ll know if you forgive me by the way you purr.’’

The cat focused on Captain Hook for a moment. It scratched his hand and hissed.

Captain Hook winced before he scowled at the cat.

Billy Jukes smiled. ‘’I’m keeping the cat!’’ He remembered all the times Captain Hook threatened him at the drop of a hat. His eyes became bigger the minute Captain Hook placed the hook under his face. Billy Jukes trembled. ‘’I’ll return the cat to shore.’’

‘’Cecilia loathes me no matter what,’’ Captain Hook muttered. He returned to his chamber. Exhausted again, he fell on his bed. Captain Hook’s eyes widened the minute he noticed a large spider on his shoulder.

Cecilia used one of her many legs to caress his face.

The End




Doc Omega
Living Tribunal
Doc Omega
Living Tribunal
Joined: 14 Jul 2008, 09:24

05 May 2016, 21:12 #6

a good read


Eternal Nightmare
Joined: 21 Jun 2008, 01:11

05 May 2016, 21:31 #7


I tried to keep the Starkey and Billy Jukes pirates in character as much as possible.

Captain Hook was a lot of fun to write.




Joined: 03 Oct 2013, 20:56

06 May 2016, 07:29 #8

I think I'm going to work on my entry this weekend. Its either going to be a brand new chapter for one of my Marvel Star Wars stories or a stand alone story I've had in mind for years.

Joined: 17 Oct 2013, 02:44

06 May 2016, 23:37 #9

You guys started this months comp with some solid stories. Good reads indeed
One of the worlds greatest pleasures is secret knowledge. Things you learn that your peers don't know, or imagine you know. Its the lifetime batting average of every member of the Yankees, stats of Desert Storm, or the names and home-worlds of legions of Superheroes. Commit this knowledge to memory, and you can speak the private language of those who have approached this with equal dedication.

The will of the warrior is the resolute acceptance of death - Musashi

PS4: Redsledge
Xbox1: RedsledgeBLU

Joined: 17 Oct 2013, 02:44

06 May 2016, 23:43 #10

Big Thunder! @ May 6 2016, 07:29 AM wrote: I think I'm going to work on my entry this weekend. Its either going to be a brand new chapter for one of my Marvel Star Wars stories or a stand alone story I've had in mind for years.
I havent written a story in years. I do remember that continuing off of an existing story can be easier. Already have characters, a direction and momentum. (Theres a "Reds a Juggernaut fan" joke in there some where)

Stand alone stories can be tasking for someone like me. Starting over fucks up my thought process i reckon.

I wish i had checked out this section sooner. I always just kinda drove by. Id read a few, but forget to vote. (I enjoy a good bake, and time slips away homies) Glad i gave it another shot.
One of the worlds greatest pleasures is secret knowledge. Things you learn that your peers don't know, or imagine you know. Its the lifetime batting average of every member of the Yankees, stats of Desert Storm, or the names and home-worlds of legions of Superheroes. Commit this knowledge to memory, and you can speak the private language of those who have approached this with equal dedication.

The will of the warrior is the resolute acceptance of death - Musashi

PS4: Redsledge
Xbox1: RedsledgeBLU

Joined: 03 Oct 2013, 20:56

07 May 2016, 00:19 #11

I forgot I've got some obligations I can't cancel on Sunday and I made those obligations before I realized it was Mother's Day. I need to do something nice for my mom, tomorrow. I think I'll buy her some flowers and take her out to Red Lobster. (I have a tradition of doing that for her birthday and Mother's Day.

Joined: 21 Dec 2013, 01:44

07 May 2016, 20:35 #12

I join in with my story (atttention: mature content)


“Oh, misty eye of the mountain below
Keep careful watch of my brothers' souls
And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke
Keep watching over Durin's sons”
Ed Sheeran


Actually, it could mean anything; the fact that suddenly there was silence all around him. Yesterday was the first day. The first one for several years, with no war: even all those small gangs, the totally unimportant ones kept their activities low, performing zero aggressive actions. As if all humans at once decided to lay down their weapons… Nevertheless Vision couldn’t find any place for himself. He was checking the net again and again. To be the first to react to any new threat. Strange coldness chilled him every while, so that he had to shake it off from his shoulders. To his surprise he realized that he was… afraid? Well… no… It was just a typical reaction to an untypical situation: no need to save humans. He supposed, something like a degradation of human aggression could have started in the background, degradation of bad emotions which suddenly just stopped concentrating among people. Vision needed to know the reason for that, he wanted to make such a state permanent. He really liked those humans. Somewhat surprised by his feelings he started analyzing the state of his own mind. Did he love people? Nay… After a while he threw away this possibility. He was different, humanlike emotions weren’t his own. In human sense he was perfect, while all of them were… degraded? He wondered why such a conclusion appeared in his mind. Maybe the current degradation of their emotions meant another step in their development? Or in their fall… he felt weird thinking of their ending. Humans were full of all kinds of possible failures, but the way they bravely worked on improving themselves every day, the variety of solutions they created to achieve it, made them so interesting, so beautiful. And yet so cruel. That’s why one day their end had to come. But not yet. Vision again started checking the net. Nothing again. And again. The second day of silence. Dissatisfied, Vision closed his eyes.

But almost immediately he jumped to his feet. The thought struck him like a huge thunderbolt served right down on him by Thor: wars were gone, nevertheless evil emotions stayed there! They only changed the way of their guise: humans freed them without uniting themselves in groups against other groups, they did it… individually, one against the other. Vision fully surprised by this conclusion realized that, that what he always used to ignore as less important while checking the net, that meant single acts of aggression, were actually part of an ocean of angry rage and were making the background of human life, not only lurking in dark corners of their unconsciousness and waiting for the first opportunity to explode in warlike actions, but also steadily dropping into their thoughts, drop by drop, drop by drop, and that they were always there in human minds. Like a dot at the end of each sentence. And Vision realized this: humans were doomed to fight evil all their lives. It was their destiny.

Two bips. It meant someone was calling him. Vision picked up the call in his mind – it was one of the privileges left to him by Ultron. Steve Rogers wanting to talk to him? Vision again was surprised. Well they made peace at the end of their last conflict, but Steve avoided him anyway. As if he was urged to fly away from him by some past memories. Or by his conscience…

- I know it would sound crazy, but since yesterday you’re on my mind, with no pauses. Would you like to have a drink with me? – Steve asked him sounding despite his words somewhat resentfully.

Vision confirmed.


- I don’t know why, but I feel weird – Steve started clearly upset – On one hand I’m fine, feeling really good, on the other hand however, I think… well – he stopped as if not sure how to formulate his state – Something is going to happen, something really bad and nasty – he stopped again and looked down to the green grass - I hate this waiting. I feel almost wanting this to happen. And all the while I am watching the sky for the next invasion – Steve said it looking again at Vision and rubbed his nose nervously at the end – And how about you, Great Guardian? – he asked.

Vision smiled slightly. He understood, why Steve contacted exactly him. People are so naively simple… - You ask about how I am although you know it very well that I am fine, as fine as I was before that hot action with Wanda. Maybe you’d like to know, if our planet is endangered by a new war? You named me to be a guardian… -

- Vision, I am really sorry, I didn’t intend to be rude or rough – Steve went red at that – I reacted like a kindergarten boy jealous for being given a role of a shepherd’s dog while his colleague was happy to be the king in their next performance -

- You’re not a shepherd’s dog, Steve, although some people behave sometimes like sheep – Vision cut him off, somehow he still preferred keeping distance to this Captain – And yes, I also feel odd. Or maybe bored by this… silence – Vision suddenly shook his head, he reached to massage his numb shoulders, the muscles there weren’t working properly today. Alarmed by his body he quickly started to recheck the net.

- Maybe we could do something together. I feel definitely safer being so close to you – Steve suggested.

Vision looked at Steve surprised; he was a little bit disoriented by the amount of anger boiling madly in all the messages.

- Oh, don’t take me wrong – Steve sad quickly – I’m not that attracted by you, it is Wanda, who in this aspect has fallen -

- Wanda?! – Vision didn’t catch what Steve meant by that. And suddenly he heard, no… he sensed someone screaming, it was pure despair, vibrations of horror and angry helplessness – Wanda? – he immediately thought and started checking for her on the net.

- Sure, Wanda. She’s almost fainting every time she gets close to you – Steve answered.

Nope. It wasn’t Wanda. Vision turned round carefully trying to sense from which direction the painful signal had come. Intense searching on the net reddened his skin even more than usually.

To Steve it looked like embarrassment - Well, no shame, really – Steve wanted to help Vision out of this inconvenient situation – Women make this world much nicer, don’t they? Actually, talking about your action with Wanda brings you closer to us, humans -

- My action?! – Vision was so involved into the searching, that he couldn’t catch Steve’s allusions yet. Suddenly he’d found her; it was a short info, an excerpt from a press conference of someone from the Ministry of Finance of one of states in United Europe. She was sitting, the third from the right. For an unknown reason Vision was sure it was her. He. Had. Heard. Her – Milena… Milena Krasecka – he whispered softly her name immediately checking the details of her life.

Steve burst out laughing – OK. It’s not my business. Better not to know more about it, otherwise Wanda will put my brain into a kettle full of boiling nightmares about vampires – he remarked half casually half seriously.

Vision caught sudden glimpses of a big white house which actually looked like a typical old manor house of the local nobles. But this house was nowhere to be found on the net. Vision saw it in his mind only, and after another careful search he was sure it wasn’t there on the net. It was… - A transmission? – Vision thought – From whom? From Her? – everything felt wrong with this house and with Milena – I am really sorry – he informed Steve aloud – I have to go now. It looks to be very urgent –


Milena took part together with her daughters in their local Creativity Olympics. Actually she didn’t have to come, but she wanted it. Oh, maybe she didn’t want it, but she felt urged to be with her kids afraid that they could get lost in the noisy crowd and instead of having fun they would get stressed.

In fact, there were plenty of kids there, hurrying up there and back again, and again, the whole day long, from one performance to another. It was already the second day. Milena was tired, she took both girls by their hands and quickly hurried up towards the elevators trying to outrun other groups which kept on storming an elevator for themselves. But when she succeeded in getting in she noticed that in all this rushing around the younger daughter Nijola had slipped out of her hand. Milena at the last moment jumped out of the elevator with her older daughter.


Everyone at the Olympics was searching for Nijola, the speakers informing loudly, and the mms shared among all who were there. The police has been notified after an hour. And then Milena started to howl, she screamed, she roared helplessly, and clenched her fists so that her nails went through her skin. And she punched with those fists once against the wall, once against her own forehead. She calmed herself down first when she saw medical assistants running towards her. Then she let them take her home.

Tired and still full of pain, Milena cuddled the older daughter and started to pray. She run through all the prayers she had known from her childhood. Well so it seemed to her. In truth she started only with “Our Father” and then all the other words stuck in her throat, they went on in her mind on their own, slowly, soundlessly, and each had its beginning and then much later on its end. Only her lips moved in their rhythm, in the rhythm of endless prayers.


She was awoken by a red light. No, it was someone standing at her bed. And then in a fraction of a second she saw Nijola. Milena immediately burst into tears.

Vision also immediately reacted. He took Milena’s hands and fastened them quickly to the bed frame, to make sure she wouldn’t hurt herself with her fingernails. And then quickly he analysed the details of a scene with Nijola, which he had also seen in his mind when he touched Milena:
Nijola was naked, she kneeled on a table with hands leaning on the table too, and a dirty man raped her savagely. The light of three candles which were stuck to the girls shoulders jumped to the rhythm of his movements and the wax splashed down the candles.

But Vision didn’t concentrate on such details – A white manor house quite away from the entrance to the estate, surrounded by relatively young trees, leaved ones and some conifers among them. Do you recognize, where it could be? – he asked Milena sharply, and realizing that she’s not able to respond he added: - I’ll do everything to find your daughter, but maybe you know this area better than me – the older daughter stuck to Milena – Young trees, it has to be a newly built house, in the style of their national old tradition – Vision thought and quickly took off crashing through the window, but it wasn’t important at all at that moment and Milena kissed her daughter who still was clenching to her with all her strength.


Robert parked in his garage, then took the little one out of the car’s boot and quickly carried her to the elevator. He went down to his bedroom. He immediately undressed her and asked her to kneel on the table – Don’t worry – he said to her softly – You’ll be free soon – but the girl was still trembling. Robert smiled, he liked her so shaky, so he told her to lean her hands on the table, took out an old looking candelabra with three little candles and using superglue he stuck it to the girls shoulders. Then watching the dancing candle lights he started to undress himself from dirty overalls, next he got rid of the bullet proof vest and then his underwear. All parts he was throwing freely all around him – I will show you soon what we guys have got… -

Nijola didn’t hear, what this ugly smelling man wanted to show her, because at that moment Vision cut off the part of the bedroom’s ceiling, which fell down right to the bed with a great rumble. Vision flew inside catching the man by his throat and lifted him so that the man danced in the air and was forced to struggle for his breath, but noticing the crying girl Vision let him free blocking only the muscles in his legs and reached quickly for the bed cover that lay on a chair at the table. Then he carefully cut off the candelabra - Don’t be afraid – he said softly tearing the band which covered the girls mouth – You’ll be free soon -

The child’s wild scream, which Vision heard as an answer, almost knocked him down. The bed cover slipped out of his hand and Robert burst out laughing madly.

Vision suddenly felt so angry, that his skin turned to a violet shade and he automatically reached to Robert’s throat.

- I know you – Robert gurgled – You’re that American puppet -

Vision was really angry, he barely refrained himself from crushing Robert’s throat, he really wanted to silence him - I also know you – Vision answered instead quickly covering the crying girl with his own golden silk cloak, he was so focused on Robert that he didn’t notice that his own hands were trembling – A brilliant sniper discovered first in the army, the best of the best – he barked - Officially a hobbyist in mechanics, a restless constructor of crazy cars, but your real job is killing on direct orders coming for presidential palace – and sensing that Robert tensed his muscles he added: - Oh, didn’t you know that such function wasn’t invented here? It’s really nothing new, but taking into account that you humans are a creative kind, such silent elimination of your enemy is only a temporarily solution – the tone of Vision voice showed that he was disgusted by Robert - More effective would be working on changing of human’s mentality; but it requires time and a lot of coordinated engagement, so as usual you’re not following reasonable advice – Vision narrowed his eyes – I should clench my fingers now, because types like you statistically never change. You would do it if you were in my place, but I really pity the little girl –

Vision stopped talking, he realized that actually that wasn’t the real reason for what he had just said. To his surprise he didn’t know why he hadn’t smashed Robert against the walls yet – I am not like you – he finished explaining it more to himself than to Robert.

- You’re only a fucked up machine, nothing more – Robert answered him with happy sparkles in his eyes, as he had just noticed some of his friends taking place all around the hole in the ceiling – You’re no threat to me – he snapped. The weapons have already been directed on the girl, and one only on the back of Vision’s head – I’ll relax myself in jail for some time, and then when the reps calm down I’ll go out -

Vision turned his head slightly to the back – I know, you’re aiming at us – he said taking on the usual red shade on his face – Don’t feel so convenient however – he continued to Robert – Even though you’re a human, you seem to ignore the intensity of human feelings. After your release be sure that someone with full satisfaction will rip out your… little fellow. And it won’t be me, believe me-

- Heheh – Robert laughed clearly amused – I don’t fear her mummy neither her daddy. I am unreachable for them -

- But there are more of such pairs, who have lost their little daughters, am I right? – Vision argued – How many girls are there buried in the roots of the young trees, those all around the house? – Vision felt again that Robert tensed.

And then everything happend really quickly:
Vision turned covering the still trembling girl from one side by his own body and from the other by Robert’s body and immediately took off leaving the house.


Proving Robert’s guilt went really smoothly, so Vision had no problem with that. Nijola was back at home, and when she finally was sleeping Vision searched out Milena. She was standing on a narrow balcony of their small house.

- I’d like to thank you somehow properly, but my head is totally empty. I am sorry… and thank you – Milena started their conversation barking nervously.

- I think you’re tired. It’s typical – Vision tried to explain to her softly, but he also felt dizzy. The emotions were tearing his mind inside. They started with that pain sent out by Milena. But now Milena seemed to him so common, even prosaic. Vision didn’t understand what was going on with him. And this irritated him enormously.

- No, I’m not tired – Milena protested – I don’t understand, why God hadn’t thrown this dog into a deep hole in the ground and hadn’t let him die all his months long there – Milena looked down to their garden that looked like a green carpet with plenty of spring flowers – I would do this – she stated – And I would throw him one nut daily… heh – she laughed darkly at Vision – Well, maybe two – she turned back to the garden – Nope… God has other matters to deal with. And mine was insignificant – she moved rapidly towards Vision and looking through watery eyes she snapped: – She’s only one, little, unimportant child -

- Stop doing this to yourself, Milena – Vision reacted automatically – I’m not human, I don’t sense God, but I think, I understand this idea: in a hopeless situation you humans start praying and then seemingly out of nowhere there comes help -

- Help! – Milena screamed – Help?! You call the suffering of my Nijola help? All her life long she’ll be scared to go out alone and she’ll hate men with all her heart! -

- Milena, you’re out of yourse… -

- Yea, I AM! – she roared strongly – I am pissed off! And I hate this life and this sick world! Enough! Enough of it! Do you understand?!– Milena lost her voice.

- Yes I do – Vision agreed – And I am sorry, that I don’t feel the same now. I can’t help you with it. I simply don’t have your paranormal abilities, and I don’t have such emotions – he finished sadly.

Milena cast him a wondering glance – You don’t have? How then did you know about that white manor house? I didn’t -

This time Vision couldn’t find any answer.

Joined: 08 Dec 2011, 13:45

07 May 2016, 21:58 #13

Blake and Gwynn Investigations-

Issue 1- Case of the Golden Mirror (Part 1)

New York City
Sixteen Months Ago
The Final Incursion Event

Megan, the small pink-haired, pointed-eared mutant, landed upon a rooftop and knelt down to place her head between her knees as she took several deep breaths. For the past two hours she'd been teleporting everybody she could out of the city.
In those two hours she had only let herself look towards the sky three times, afraid that if she looked too long at the danger that hung over them her body would lose the will to go on.
That planet that sat where no planet should, the planet that spelled almost certain doom.

She hadn't believed it when she heard, especially as the threat couldn't be seen at all outside of Manhattan. It wasn't until she teleported in and saw it with her own eyes did she believe, and dread.
Many of the X-Men had come to the city to do what they could, aid in the evacuation and prevent people from tearing the city apart in their panic. Of course evacuation was likely futile, if the threat was real Megan doubted there was a place on the planet that was safe.
And it seemed the other heroes had the same thought.

That was why she needed to take a break, to get away and try to find a moment of peace. She'd overheard them talking.
A life raft. Designed to take the smartest and most talented and shield them from the end of the world, possibly even the end of the universe. The last remnants of their world, protected.
She knew it was probably selfish, but Megan was unable to stop thinking about the fact that never in a million years would she find safety on their life-raft.
She was largely insignificant, barely a noticeable speck in the greater world. The X-Man without a team, relegated to taxi when nobody else in the world is available. Once she felt important, now she barely felt remembered. Even Dr Strange had disappeared months ago without a single word.
She'd saved the world herself only mere months ago, and nobody could even bother to tell her where they were going. Not even him.

That was where her thoughts truly were, not on Dr Strange, or the other heroes, or those lucky enough to be saved. The crazy Australian man that was so unlike anyone she had ever known.
She'd saved the world and he was just gone. Not a word or a sign, just gone.
She'd wanted to say so much to him, while her confidence was boosted by the fact she'd just save the world riding a dragon. He never gave her the chance, he didn't even take the time to say goodbye.

She'd tried to look for him for a while, but turned up nothing. So she returned to her life, her unnoticeable life.
Still every couple of nights her thoughts would return to him, and hope that he would suddenly appear and confess to her all the feelings she held for him. But he never did.
Life wasn't one of the romance films she'd begun to devour like she needed them to live. Life was her alone and forgotten, with nothing but dreams and memories to keep a smile upon her face.

Mitchell Blake. Darktruth.
All she wanted was to see his silly face once more, to rest her head against his chest and tell him everything she felt inside. That she loved him.
Mae hi'n ei garu o waelod ei chalon i mewn i'r ehangder tragwyddoldeb .
But it would never be so. He had left her, and now the world would end and she would never see him again.

Blake Investigations
New York City, Lower East Side

Megan Gwynn sucked in a breath as she stared at the sign upon the door, her hand outstretched towards the bronze handle. Her dragonfly-like wings fluttered nervously.
She had stood there, frozen in a state of uncertainty, for almost ten minutes. She'd wanted to do this, hell it was her that had asked to do this. She'd had a long and not always pleasant 'discussion' about it with Storm. She'd argued that she didn't just want to do it, she had to.
But all of that disappeared the moment her hand neared that doorknob. The moment it was all about to become very real her certainty transformed into doubt.

"Ar gyfer y cariad duw Megan," she muttered softly under her breath. "Just do it already."
She licked her lip and grasped the cold handle tightly, her heart thundering in her chest like a tiny drum-machine. She started to think she should have worn the soft-blue shirt instead, it worked so well with her hair.
Suddenly the doorknob began to turn in her hand and she let out a yelp as she leapt backwards from the door.

The door opened inwards and she found two men stared out at her with confusion and concern.
One was dressed in a long dark-trenchcoat, purple pants and a green shirt beneath. A black cowboy sat upon his head. Mitchell Blake aka Darktruth.
The other wore a cloak of red with gold trimming, with dark pants and a blue 'tunic'-style top. His hair dark black. Dr Stephen Strange aka the Sorcerer Supreme.
Megan couldn't say which of them it was that caused more blood to rush to her cheeks.

"Miss Gwynn," Strange stated as his gaze turned to Darktruth behind him. "I did not expect to see you today." His eyes return to her with a soft smile. "Do you have X-Men business here?"
"Um, kinda. What are you doing here?"
"He was offering me a job," Darktruth cut in quickly. "Tracking down some magic thing."
"Indeed," Strange nodded with a smile.

"Did you take it?" she asked curiously.
"Aahm..." Darktruth's eyes began to widen slowly.
"The file is on your desk, if you do accept it," Stephen said to Darktruth with a knowing nod.
Darktruth's head snapped towards his desk and a folder so neat it looked completely out-of-place amongst the mess of paper-work and fast-food containers. "Um, good."

"I should... I should take my leave, allow you two to conduct your business," Stephen said and gave a small ow to Megan that caused an involuntary squeal to escape her throat. "Miss Gwynn, I shall contact you about restarting our lessons again soon. Have a wonderful day."
"Y-you two," she muttered softly, even as she wanted to disappear into the floor.
Stephen gave one final look to Darktruth, then moved past Megan and disappeared down the staircase.

"So..." Darktruth said stiffly. "Would you like to come inside. I know the peeling paint out here is just to die for, but..."
Megan nodded her head frantically. "Okay."
She stepped through the doorway and wrapped her arms around herself as she tried to fight back the butterflies in her stomach and the swirl of thoughts in her head. Not for the first time she wondered if she had gone insane, to offer to work with this man.
It wasn't even just that his history was simultaneously notoriously violent and unknown. It was the fact that every time her eyes fell upon him her heart fluttered, and she felt like she had known him far longer than she truly had. Almost as though she had spent another life with him.

Megan bit her lip as she looked about his small office, a large portion of the space taken up by either his desk, his single filing cabinet, or assorted mess.
She turned to him and found his grey eyes upon her as his hand stroked his wirey beard. He suddenly froze for a moment, and dropped his hand to his side. "Do you want a drink?"
She shook her head.
"Good. Not sure anything I have in here is drinkable. Also you might have to use my desk, until I earn enough money for another."

"So you're taking Dr Strange's job then?" she asked with curiosity and eagerness.
"Um, guess I have to," he muttered. "My key competitor is a talking duck, and honestly he's a lot better at this than I am. That job tracking down lost mutants is the best thing I've had so far. My skills typically stray further from investigations and more towards shooting wildly and cowering in the corner."
She smiled at him softly, which caused red to rush to his cheeks, which in turn caused her to turn her eyes towards her feet. "So... what's the job?"

His eyes widened as he moved to the desk and snatched up the file. His eyes scanned the first page. "He wants us to find a... mirror..." His brow furrowed. "This is the best he could offer me? How am I supposed to get a reputation off finding a damned mirror?"
"It'd have to be a magic mirror, right?" she suggested as she moved over to look at the file. An image of a golden-framed hand-held mirror upon the first page. "Didn't he tell you about it?"
"Um, of course he did," Darktruth replied with a forced laugh. "It's not like he came here to talk about something completely unrelated and this job is just a cover. That's ridiculous. Of course it's a magic mirror." He suddenly turns and points a finger at a toaster sitting upon the floor in the corner. "You mind your own business. Don't think I won't donate you to charity. I will."

"Says here it was stolen from a private collection," Pixie said as pointed at the page. Darktruth's eyes jumped from the toaster to where her finger pointed. "Maybe we should start there?"
He gave a shrug. "Sure. I mean if we're actually going to do this job and all. I mean if we didn't that would totally mean this was just a distraction, wouldn't it? I do kinda need the money..."
"Then let's go!" Megan cried out excitedly. "Sihal Novarum Chinoth!"

Lenox Hill, Upper East Side

"This place seems... fancy," Darktruth muttered as they entered the lobby of the apartment building. The lobber was made largely of finely polished wood, and large paintings hung upon every wall.
"A little," Megan muttered as she stared up at a large portrait of a stern-looking man with a curled mustache. "Maybe we should have dressed up first?"
"I'm pretty sure one of these paintings costs more than my entire life put together," he said as they approached the front desk. "Not sure if that's impressive of the painting or sad of me."

"May I help you?" asked a thin, tall man behind the desk as he surveyed them with a distasteful look. "We do not allow door-to-door sales-people within this building." He glanced to Megan, or more specifically her pink hair. "Or whatever this is."
"We're here to investigate a break-in one of the tenants had a few weeks back," Darktruth replied as he removed his cowboy hat. "See if we can't track down the items that were stolen."
The man looked him over skeptically. "I'm certain none of the tenants here would approach one such as yourself for help, however I do know Mrs Drumpf has become quite desperate to have her jewellery returned. I shall allow you access up to her floor. If you cause trouble I shall have the police remove you.
"Thank you kindly," Darktruth replied with a small bow. "I assure you, we won't be any trouble."

"Floor seven," the man informed them as they headed towards the elevator. "I shall unlock the floor for you."
"Unlock the floor," Darktruth repeated under his breath as they stopped by the elevator. "I get the feeling this is not the easiest of places to break into."
"Maybe they used magic?" Megan suggested. "Magic mirror, I'd imagine the people who took it knew magic. Maybe."
He shrugged. "Better guess than any I have."

The elevator doors opened and Darktruth gestured for Megan to enter first. As she did his eyes narrowed upon an elderly man whose gaze was locked upon Megan's wings. The man then turned and whispered something to the woman by his side.
He watched as the couple began to move away, then stepped into the elevator beside Megan. The only button lit up was for the seventh floor so he hit it and the doors closed.
He wanted to say something as the elevator began to move upwards, but still had yet to decide what when it reached the seventh floor and the doors opened.

"Apartment 7-C," he said as they stepped out and into the corridor. The door they found quickly and he knocked thrice upon it.
"You think she'll want help from... us?" Megan asked nervously.
"If she wants any of her stuff back she will," he replied.

The door cautiously opened and a stout woman with blonde hair that clearly wasn't her natural colour poked her head out.
Darktruth gave a small bow. "Madam, I would like to..."
His voice trailed off as the woman pointed a finger sharply at Megan. "Get that mutie whore out of this building."

Darktruth's fist collided with the woman's jaw and she dropped to the floor like a a ragdoll.
He looked to Megan, whose hands were clasped to her mouth with wide eyes.
"Was that sexist of me?"

To be Continued
"Don't Act Too Paranoid Or They'll Know You're Onto Them."


Joined: 03 Oct 2013, 20:56

08 May 2016, 01:21 #14

We've got 4 entries in just the first week of this month. This might be a big month! Keep 'em coming!

Doc Omega
Living Tribunal
Doc Omega
Living Tribunal
Joined: 14 Jul 2008, 09:24

09 May 2016, 05:48 #15

Redsledge @ May 6 2016, 07:43 PM wrote:
Big Thunder! @ May 6 2016, 07:29 AM wrote: I think I'm going to work on my entry this weekend. Its either going to be a brand new chapter for one of my Marvel Star Wars stories or a stand alone story I've had in mind for years.
I havent written a story in years. I do remember that continuing off of an existing story can be easier. Already have characters, a direction and momentum. (Theres a "Reds a Juggernaut fan" joke in there some where)

Stand alone stories can be tasking for someone like me. Starting over fucks up my thought process i reckon.

I wish i had checked out this section sooner. I always just kinda drove by. Id read a few, but forget to vote. (I enjoy a good bake, and time slips away homies) Glad i gave it another shot.
My story is a rewrite of an old one I had done on I never saved any of it but I wanted to finish it so I've started over


Joined: 28 Apr 2014, 11:02

17 May 2016, 20:54 #16

I'll be chucking in a DC Comics' Deadshot story! Before the Suicide Squad movie comes out :D :D
Outstanding Marvel Team Up - your favourite heroes (and villains) all in one fan fic!

Joined: 28 Apr 2014, 11:02

18 May 2016, 20:51 #17

Warning: bad words!

It had all gone to shit.

With the explosion still ringing in his ears, Deadshot scrambled from his firing position. His hands practically moved of their own accord, muscle memory kicking in, as he began to fold up his sniper rifle and shove it into the duffle bag he had brought with him. Patterns and practice, that’s what Deadshot had built his entire career upon. Well, those two things and damn good aim. The kind of aim that was unmatched throughout the world. But for all his talent with a gun, he would’ve traded it all in for some of that super speed them Flash’s had. Yeah, that would’ve come in real handy right about now.

The building he’d been perched on was collapsing all around him. It was one of the taller buildings in the village he’d gone to, but it still left his red-chest piece stained with sand and grime. The silver face mask he wore was stifling, sweat beading against his forehead. He would’ve ripped it off then and there, if it weren’t the only thing connecting him to salvation. The diagnostics in the special lens over his left eye was keeping him alive; thanks to the special vision it was granting him. Because there was smoke and dust rising all around him, it should’ve been difficult to see. But Deadshot was equipped with only the best equipment, helmet included. And there was the earpiece connected inside that would’ve been a help, if not for that damned ringing.

Deadshot was pretty certain his ears were bleeding. And that was going to stain the inside of his helmet, which would make it smell to high heaven. Deadshot’s work took him to all manner of disgusting places, but he’d never experienced anything quite like the smell of dried blood caked in with days’ old sweat. If that wasn’t enough to piss him off, the fact that the intel had been bad would’ve tipped him right over the edge.

Well, actually, the explosion and collapsing building was doing a good enough job of that.

Deadshot grunted as he took a massive leap from what the falling rubble. His trajectory was enough to send him hurtling to the rooftop beside it. The aftershock of the blast gave him that extra bit of height he needed for gloved hands to grab on, but the inertia forced his chest to slam into the hard concrete. “Gah!” The rasp escaped through gritted teeth as he felt the heat from the blast washing over his back. This building wasn’t structurally sound either, not with the last building having just been blown to bits.

So, pushing through the pain, Deadshot hurled himself onto the rooftop and started running. Again.

If Deadshot didn’t have backlogs of contracts for murder, he would’ve been convinced that he’d made his career off running. All these years, spent running, hiding from the one thing that mattered most. But what was a man to do, in his position? Stay behind and put everyone he loved in danger just for a few days of bliss? Nah. Deadshot wasn’t like that. He’d worked his ass off to be where he was right now. Even if – right now – he didn’t want to be there. Kahndaq is beautiful this time of year, they had said. You’d really love it, they said. It’s a great work opportunity, they’d said.

Liars. He could hit a target from over three hundred yards, but he couldn’t catch a break.

Kahndaq was beautiful no time of the year.
The source of the original blast emerged from the smoke. A plane, blacker than the night sky flew towards him with its blades whipping through the air. Deadshot peered over his shoulder, the lens zooming in to see that there were two pilots inside, with a third in the back seat. One was handling the controls, while the other seemed preoccupied with filling his body with lead. Deadshot continued to hear something chattering through his earpiece, but his burst eardrums meant picking up the exact words was next to impossible. All he heard was ‘get out’ and ‘run like hell’, which was incredigly sage-like advice. As if Deadshot hadn’t thought of that already. These analyst types were meant to be smart. But the day Deadshot met a useful handler was the day he’d pack his rifle away for good.

The assassin figured that wouldn’t be anytime soon.

Before he had a chance to clear the building, the helicopter started firing. Bullets trailed after him, threatening to catch him. Forced to move, Deadshot decided leaping off the side of the building prematurely offered better chances than trying to outrun an AK-47. He could tell it was that model from the rate of fire alone and because any soldier worth his damn salt would be able to pick out the most overused and clichéd action movie weapon in the world. Not exactly the most practical gun for this kind of situation, but then, AKs were incredibly easy to get hands on. And dirt cheap, too, in comparison to some of the other gear floating around, which was ironic for a dirt poor part of Htown like this.

In all honesty, it was embarrassing. For a guy who never missed his mark, the feeble attempts at trying to gun him down left him overall disappointed. Flipping through the air, practically upside-down, Deadshot threw out his right fist. From it, a mounted gun emerged and with a slight flick of his thumb against his palm, it opened fire. A single revolution was all Deadshot needed to strike his enemy, leaving him bloodied and pumped with bullets. The AK dropped to the ground and good riddance. The bastard couldn’t shoot it anyway. What had the criminal underworld come to? He could’ve had an M4 Carbine or a TAVOR and still would’ve made an idiot of himself. Guns weren’t just tools or even weapons. No, in the right hands – like Deadshot’s – they were things of beauty.

And poorly trained soldiers like this guy gave them all a bad name.

So when Deadshot had struck him, he’d made sure none of the wounds were fatal until the last. Let him feel what bullet artistry was really like, before joining all the others that had their ticket punched by the master assassin. But as the soldier dropped from the plane, Deadshot was also making his descent. With his left hand, he reached, looking for the nearest ledge he could grab on to. He felt it before he saw it. The sudden stop jerked at his left arm, popping out his shoulder blade and sending a rippling shock of pain throughout his body. Holding on for dear life, Deadshot knew that his left arm was probably broken.

He’d be lucky if it were just in one place.

The plane that had been chasing him was forced to veer around, reposition itself quickly, as Deadshot finally came back to his senses. It was sleek, but an older model that was most likely in the developmental stage, the master assassin concluded. After all, where were separatist rebels going to get technology like that, if they couldn’t even get their hands on any good assault rifles?

Then, he leapt from the building again, this time landing on a nearby car. The shock from the landing ran up his legs and the assassin knew he was going to regret that in the morning. But desperate times, after all. The plane had finally managed to find him, a spotlight shining on his location. Deadshot leapt from the car and onto the street, crossing it in five, long strides. More bullets came after him. Another AK. Seriously? Didn’t these guys ever learn? Deadshot made a dart for the alley between two buildings that looked like they were made of sand and heard the bullets piece the weak material where he’d been, only moments before. Sand picked up all around him, the plane’s engines roaring through the night sky.

The sudden attacks had meant that many of the rag-head villagers were storming out of their buildings, running in terror. The smarter ones had stayed indoors. You’d think after years of being terrorised by the separatists they’d be used to seeing something like this. Or at least, have some kind of evacuation plan. But nope. Instead, they were running around like headless chicken looking for their dumb-as-nails camels. Like that could outrun a plane. But for all Deadshot’s cynical frustration, he knew what drove them. Desperation, after all, made even the bravest men do stupid things.

Stupid things … like this.

The master assassin had crashed through the weak, wooden door of a poorly constructed house, the flames from outside coming in through the small window slits. Looking around, Deadshot saw that bullet holes also had pierced the walls, small lights peering through them. Deadshot followed the trail of light and saw them leading to two bodies on the ground. Bleeding profusely, the man was dead and gone. But the woman beside him, probably his wife – or one of them, knowing this bunch – was still breathing. And a shaking finger was pointing to somewhere on the opposite end of the room.

There, hiding under a table, was a young girl. Weeping. Her hair came down in braids across her thin shoulders, dark skin wet with tears and sweat from the night’s heat. Her clothing was modest and Deadshot saw that it was also stained with blood. But not hers. She climbed out from underneath the table and moved towards Deadshot. On instinct, he lifted his gauntlet-gun, aiming the sights right at her chest. He’d seen men make the mistake of trusting children before. Deadshot wasn’t about to go Hell and say he was blown up because of sentimentality. No way, not him. But there was nothing on her, save for the dress she wore. And the blood of her parents.

“Do ama!” She wept. “Do ama! Do aman!”

She said something in Khandaq-anese or whatever language they spoke. And Deadshot had no clue what she was saying. He lunged forward, however and the girl squealed. Not for long, since his gloved hand covered her mouth. Despite her protestations, there was silence as the whirring noise of the plane soared overhead, passing through the village. And then, after thinking they were safe, there was another blast further down the street and the ground shook beneath them. The girl wept and beat and cried and Deadshot momentarily lost his grip on her. She rushed toward her parents, kneeling by their side.

She continued to weep and cry and moan.

“Do ama…” her head nestled against her mother’s bleeding chest. “Onnuk do ama…”

The mother’s eyes rolled and glazed over, her body stiffening. The girl didn’t seem to realise or care, because she continued to shake and cry and call her mother’s name. She was the only one moving in the entire building. Probably on the entire street, after all the damage that military plane had caused outside. Deadshot just sat there, watching. She looked about five or six. And there was no way in hell that she was going to make it out of here alive. Not by herself, anyway. That ship wasn’t done and it would come back around, no doubt. On the other hand, they had seen Deadshot and knew what he looked like. The girl … she would only slow him down. And he needed to get out, needed to find an exfil asap. She’d get in the way and she’d be a burden.

Most importantly, she wasn’t the mission.

xMatt Presents…
Tales from the DC Universe #1
Deadshot in “How to Survive, When There Are So Many Ways to Die”

Deadshot left the building as quietly as possible, his hand wrapped around the girl’s.

He had a belt wrapped around his bad arm in a makeshift sling, while his duffel bag was slung over his back. He was using the other to guide the little one out onto the street. Just ahead of them, the ship was zooming, blasting into the ground. The bullets cut through entire buildings and, most likely, through more bodies just as they had for the girl’s family. He’d finally managed to get her to shut up, but only because he’d tied a linen strip around her mouth. She beat and protested, but was altogether helpless against Deadshot’s greater strength. He wanted to tell her to be quiet and stop acting stupid, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. And he reminded himself that this was a child and he knew all too well how bullheaded they could be, sometimes. It was just a shame that she’d chosen now – when separatist air strikes were destroying her village – to be rebellious.

The fact that she wouldn’t understand what he was saying was a factor, too. In the past, Deadshot had learned often attempted to learn the language of the countries he’d be visiting, if he hadn’t been there before. It was why he’d learned how to speak Russian, considering he’d spent years there as an agent, making a living off the edge of his bullet. But more and more, as he grew older, more experienced and – as a result – more cynical, he realised he didn’t need to learn the language. Why would he have to? He wouldn’t talk to anyone in these new countries, wouldn’t make any new friends. He was there for a single purpose. And his employers either had translators or they would send him electronic messages that couldn’t be traced.

Learning the language would be a waste of time. He was regretting not learning it now.

The sound of gunfire erupted once more, but this time, it was joined by the sound of screams. Deadshot whipped his head down the street, seeing the fleeing men and women down the road. They were trying to do what Deadshot was doing, make an escape before one of the bombs levelled their homes. Only they were doing it far worse than he was. Their screams were quickly cut short as their bodies were cut down. Deadshot had zoomed in, getting a better look at them. They didn’t look like they were out of their twenties, although those damn-long beards made it hard to tell.

The girl’s eyes widened and Deadshot quickly shoved her in the opposite direction. She didn’t need to see that. Hell, Deadshot didn’t need to see it.

This was supposed to be an easy mission. In and out, fire the rifle and wait for exfil. But as always, a good plan was so easily undone by a bad one. Before the shot could even be made, the separatist group had arrived in their ship and started bombing everything to high hell. None of it mattered now. The mission was wasted and the exfil wouldn’t come, not while the separatist plane was zooming overhead, ready to waste anything. And by the looks of things, it was preparing another explosive to throw down onto the village. The girl stamped her feet, trampling after him. Then, she grabbed his hand and tried to make him stop moving.

Grunting angrily, he went to lift the girl off her feet, but then, she quickly pointed to their left. Deadshot, curious, gave it a quick scan. She was pointing at the well. “Mmrrff,” she said, clutching at the knot Deadshot had tied around her mouth. Against his better judgement, the master assassin untied it and let her speak.

She inhaled a deep breath and said, “Doro khan! Do aman lik lekky!” She continued pointing to the well and stamping her feet.

If this is you telling me you need to piss, then you can hold it in,” were Deadshot’s first words to her. It was harsh and rude, but what did he care? Besides, the girl didn’t understand him, anyway. “And if you let it out, you’re on your own.”

“Doro khan! Doro khan!”

Deadshot looked back over at the plane, which was getting closer and closer to dropping the bomb. Then he looked back at the well. Cursing under his breath, he picked up the girl and raced towards the well. She seemed happy at that, smiling from ear to ear. She even clapped once or twice. Deadshot quickly pulled the lid off and saw that there were bars on either side of the well. With a single move, he hitched the girl up over his back and, with no better option, starting climbing down the well. Reaching for the lid of the well, he realised he couldn’t reach it, not with the girl on his back. But then, she said, “Do aman lik lekky!”

Deadshot noted that’s what she had said before. She made the same move he did and reached for the lid. He was about to protest, thinking it would put her in danger of falling, but she managed to grab the lid and pull it shut over their heads. They were quickly enveloped in darkness. Deadshot managed to switch his helmet’s scope to night vision and he continued to clamber down. He moved fast, the threat of the bomb drop firmly in his mind. And when it did strike, everything around them shook.

Dust and dirt fell on them and Deadshot struggled to hold on. His one good arm was the only thing propping them up and the weight of the girl was an added burden on his broken one. With as much energy as he could muster, he made his way down, down and further down, quickly as possible as the ceiling began to cave in. At some point, he expected there to be water – it was a well, after all – but it never came. Instead, he reached the bottom, which felt as dry as the sandy roads above. Then, his scope singled out the door beside them, at the very bottom of the well, which was barred up. The girl leapt off his back and scrounged around the dirt for a bit.

“No time for games—“ he said, until he realised the girl was looking for something.

She quickly lifted up a rock in complete darkness and then retrieved what looked like a ring of keys. There were three on them, each of them distinctly different. “Mo ikar, ukku man.” She fumbled around with them, her tiny fingers feeling the make on each. Deadshot waited patiently, watching with vested interest. Here was a girl who was standing in complete darkness and she had managed to not only find the keys, but had now just figured out which one to use on the door that was barring their way. She had shoved it into the lock of the door, after removing the plate guarding it and Deadshot heard the distinctive sound of a door unlocking. She pushed against it – but the door wouldn’t open.

Turning around, without even knowing it most likely, the girl had eyes like a puppy dog’s. Wide eyed and looking as if they were bristling with tears. How? There was no light for them to catch. Deadshot immediately sighed, reaching out with his good arm and then shoving against the door. It was jammed, which only made sense, considering it was meant to keep water out. So, he put a little shoulder into it – the one wasn’t broken – and still it wouldn’t budge. He reached out, took the girl’s hand and led her further back. It was a narrow space the well, but she stood behind him all the same. Deadshot took a single step backwards himself, before kicking the door down.

The girl clapped again. “Bullaka! Bullaka!”

He felt her hand, fumbling in the darkness, until it found his fingers. Once she did, they gripped his hand tightly and Deadshot took that as incentive to start walking into the tunnel. Behind them, the sound of walls collapsing could be heard. There was still no source of light, so he relied solely on his night vision scope. The walls were dry, too. It was incredibly hot in these tunnels, which were snaking through the town above. The rattling had not ended, much of the ceiling threatening to fall onto them. But for the most part, they were safe from the separatist attack. He looked down at the girl, who appeared completely oblivious to the fact that her entire family had been wiped out and that her village was up next.

“Gotta admit, kiddo,” he mentioned, through his mask, “this was a good idea.”

“Do aman lik lekky,” she replied, as if him talking was a sign for her to start, as well. “Ubbu khara, ik khan mo uzak! Do likky—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Deadshot interjected, quickly getting sick of the language. It sounded like gravel against stone. “You licky licky. Great.”

“Likky likky!” The girl said, even more excited than she was before. She tugged at his hand and jumped on the spot. “Likky likky do lik lekky!”

Oh, what had he gotten himself into? The ringing in his ears had come to an end, but it seemed that coming down here into the tunnels had cut off the reception in his communications device. So he couldn’t even use that to block out her incessant chatter. And to make matters worse, it was echoing off the walls, making it seem louder than it was before. And she didn’t stop! She just kept going! Lick that, lick this, do this, do that. In all his time overseas, Deadshot had forgotten just how much energy little kids could have. Or maybe it was just her way of dealing with the trauma. Kids were smart like that. Even if they couldn’t understand the consequences or ramifications, they could always find a way to get themselves back to how they were. Talking … and talking and talking … was just how the girl was making sense of the situation.

Until finally, they reached another door. The girl offered up a second key and Deadshot shoved it into the slot. With a turn, the door slid open a lot easier than the first. There still wasn’t any light, but a wind came through and Deadshot knew they were getting closer to the surface. The fact that there was an incline was the next tip. But the girl’s words, still talking, had slowed somewhat. And eventually, Deadshot realised that entire minutes were going by without her speaking. Looking down, his night vision scope showed him that yawns were taking the place of her words. And she was using her other hand to rub at her eyes.

“Tired, huh? ‘Bout time,” Deadshot snorted.

He set down the duffel bag and the girl quickly moved over to it, resting her head against it. Not a minute after they’d stopped walking, she was taken by restful sleep. Deadshot smiled as he watched her, for a moment. She looked so peaceful. Not long ago, she’d been crying her eyes out. Most of the tears had washed the blood from her face, but it was still caked all over her clothes and hands. The blood reminded Deadshot of his blood in his helmet. He quickly took it off and the putrid stench of sweat and blood filled his nose. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and slumped down against the wall. His arm still hurt, but the makeshift sling was doing its job. He had pain killers in that same belt, but decided against it. They’d make him feel drowsy and he needed to stay alert until they found a way to get out of this godforsaken country.

Deadshot waited in the dark.

The young girl slept at his feet.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _

She was peaceful and silent.

Deadshot felt his eyes drooping, but didn’t dare give in. Looking over at her, she even had a smile on her face, the dried blood not far from her outstretched lips. He wondered what her dreams looked like. Probably something stupid. Like pink unicorns and fluffy teddy bears. She’d just seen her parents shot to death. And yet here she was, as innocent as you like. Deadshot wished his sleep could be as peaceful as hers was right now. He wished there was some way he could block out all the horrors he’d seen. But there wasn’t. Each death was ingrained in his memory. Some of them, he relished. Some of them, he’d even done for free.

For the most part, Deadshot didn’t decide who he killed. Other people did that for him. And that meant good people, nice people, genuine people, found themselves on the wrong side of the scope. He wasn’t the judge. He was just the executioner. And those were the deaths, the murders really, that haunted him the most. It was easy to say that he lived a certain way, that he had beliefs and values. But none of them extended beyond that thin line where he signed his name on each contract. As if to remind him not to dwell on the darkness, the walls and ceiling shook once more. Dust fell on the top of his mangled, dark hair and on the little girl’s face.

It was enough to wake her.

“…do aman..?” she asked, looking around.

“Nope,” Deadshot grunted. He took her hand and lifted her up.

He half-dragged, half-led her through what remained of the tunnel. The incline continued to get steeper and steeper, almost forcing him and the girl to climb. But now, the breeze was getting stronger and he could see the faintest light. The girl squinted her eyes and Deadshot put her behind him, so that her eyes had time to adjust. She followed after him eagerly and Deadshot noticed he was pushing the dirt aside, so that it was easier for her to climb up after him. When at last they reached the door, the girl handed him the keys once more.

Using the only one they hadn’t already, the door clicked open. The girl went to rush through, but Deadshot grabbed her arm and threw her backwards. Confused and angry, she went to ask what was happening, but he shoved his gloved hand over her mouth. Deadshot slowly peered through the door. And what he saw made even him take a moment. A gasp left his mouth and he backed away, silently pulling the door closed behind him. The faint light streaked across his dirty face as he looked over at the girl. Her eyes became wide again. This time, she knew.

And this time, there was no hiding her from the destruction.

Slowly, Deadshot took his hand away from her mouth, which had become a thin line. He lifted his index finger and placed it over his lips. They didn’t understand each other’s language, but the girl knew what that meant. Then, he took her hand once more, clasping it tightly and he led her out of the tunnel. The smell of death was enough to knock them over. The smoke was piling high into the air, the entire village laid waste to. Patches of flame had been lit, bodies stacked on top of each other, burning. Alive or dead, it didn’t matter.

Deadshot’s eyes darted towards the girl, who was crying. To her credit, she was doing her best to be quiet. She was biting down on her lips so hard that she’d drawn blood.

“Get over it,” Deadshot said harshly, before leading her through the maze of rubble.

From his count, there were four armed men patrolling the streets. They were easily avoided, so long as Deadshot stuck to the shadows. The only light was coming from the pyres that had been lit and each of those was manned by another soldier. Their guns were rudimentary and none of them could match his skill, but all it would take was one bullet and he’d be done. Normally, Deadshot wouldn’t care. If the world had finally decided it was his time to go, well, he’d gathered enough karma to deserve it. But the hand holding his was enough to incite some degree of caution, so he moved more quietly and slower than usual.

The master-assassin figured that they’d need to get clear of the village to even have a chance at escape. Not far from where they were, however, Deadshot spotted that a small tent had been set up. It had torches thrown into the ground. No … not torches. They were spikes that bore the heads of victims and had been oiled and set alight. Gruesome. Not entirely practical, either. It was a sign to ward off enemies. And whoever was inside the large tent must have thought it was enough, because there were no guards there. But it wasn’t so much the torches or even the tent that Deadshot was concerned with.

Beside the tent were four military-grade vans.

That was their way out. The girl seemed to get the same idea, because she went to run towards them. Thankfully, Deadshot hadn’t loosened his grip and he made sure she stayed in the same place. She looked up at him, questioning. Deadshot merely shook his head. Peering around, he saw that one of the four patrolling soldiers was approaching. Deadshot got down on one knee and wrapped his only good arm around the girl, so that he wasn’t seen. The wreckage was poor cover, but it would serve for now. So long as they couldn’t see him, anyway. Deadshot, still holding the girl in his arm, put his helmet back on. The scope zoomed in on the nearest target and he was able to identify that along with the AK, he had a pistol at his side and a knife strapped to his chest.

Deadshot reached behind into his duffel bag. The sniper rifle would be next to useless here and it would only slow him down. So, instead, he grabbed one of the smaller compartments of the rifle and took it in his hand. When he saw the guard turn away from them, Deadshot hurled the small part of the rifle into the distance. It hit a collapsed building, letting out a resonating crack. The soldier immediately turned and lifted his gun. “Idiot,” Deadshot couldn’t help but say. Then, he rolled over so that he was resting on his chest and attached a silencer to his gauntlet-gun.

Half a second later, the soldier was on the ground, drowning in his blood.

That was his chance. Deadshot got to his feet, forced to leave his rifle behind. The girl was practically being dragged along the ground, her little legs unable to keep up. He passed by the tent and threw the girl into the backseat. He reached for the seat belt and threw it over the girl. Deadshot was about to jump into the driver’s seat, before he felt a firm grip on his bad shoulder. The master-assassin let out a seething gasp, as the pain jolted through his body. Gritting his teeth through it, he spun around, leading with his elbow and caught what felt like a chin.

Deadshot spun and went to follow up with another strike, but his balance was off. The arm in the belt-sling made it difficult to get proper space, which left him open to another attack. Deadshot felt another pain in his arm as his opponent punched him in the shoulder, throwing him back into the metal of the van. Deadshot was staring down a seven foot Muslim monster, with a beard that reached his chest and eyes that seemed to carry more rage than an Arabian sun carried heat. Another right hook was headed straight for his face, so Deadshot wheeled himself out of the way. The master-assassin heard a resounding ‘crunch’ noise, noticing that his enemy had left a dent in the van – a van that was meant to withstand gunfire – without even batting an eyelid.

“Big boy,” Deadshot snarled. “Small odds.”

What followed was as a dance as graceful as pigs in shit. Deadshot’s martial skills were focused heavily on firearms. But his close combat wasn’t anywhere near as developed. With one arm in a sling and broken, exhausted from trekking through the underground, his precision and balance were laughable. The enemy, on the other hand, was like a bear with the way he was trying to grapple and claw at Deadshot. There was no way the master-assassin was going to have the time to set his gauntlet-gun, which meant he was forced into quick strikes. But each time he hit the burly monster, it felt like he was punching a tree and he was beginning to wonder if he was hurting himself more than he was hurting his enemy.

The enemy brought a massive fist downward, hoping to hit the top of Deadshot’s head. Instead of doding and losing ground, he brought up his only good hand, which had his gauntlet-gun mounted on it. The metal was crunched beneath the weight of his enemy’s attack, but it was enough to protect him momentarily. Without bothering to aim, Deadshot started firing with the gauntlet-gun. The bullets didn’t make it through; instead, it heated it up. And then, when he saw the opening on the man’s throat, he lunged forward and brought his heated gun against the man’s flesh. A yelp left his mouth as Deadshot smelled burnt flesh.

“Do ikka!” The girl cried, as she watched them fight. “Do ikka lek likky!”

The man reached up and grabbed Deadshot by the waist, throwing him down in the ground. Deadshot was winded, but he was forced to roll out of the way as a foot as big as his head descended. Dust and sand was thrown into the air, washing over Deadshot’s helmet. He contined to roll all the way underneath the military van and out onto the other side. The man tried to lunge across the van and through the streets, but Deadshot knew he had him. He unslung the belt from around his arm and then moved to side, whipping it around the man’s neck. When he saw the other end of it come up, he grabbed it with his broken arm and let out a shout of agony of his own. He almost let go – until the girl moved across and grabbed the belt for him.

“Do ikka likky!”

“Yeah, licky!” Deadshot snarled, as he pulled with his good arm and the girl pulled against the other. The belt tightened and gurgled, gasping breaths left the monster’s mouth. The two of them struggled for a moment as Deadshot felt the man’s burly hands grab at him, trying to push him away. But Deadshot didn’t let go. And, after what felt like ages, the man’s eyes finally rolled over and his body slumped onto the seats of the van.

Deadshot saw the three guards patrolling the street moving toward them. The tent flap was thrown over and he saw the leader of the separatist group emerge from the tent. “I was on your side,” Deadshot told him, realising the target he had been assigned to kill was this man’s enemy. “Not anymore.” Using his good arm, he lifted up his broken one and tapped his thumb against the palm of his hand. A single bullet shot out and it pierced the man’s throat. A spurt of blood shot out by the time the man was able to cover it with his hands. Deadshot then let his arm fall, limp, before jumping into the van. He fumbled with his belt, but with only one arm that was difficult. The girl steadied it for him, again and he managed a weak smile.

Except he was wearing his helmet, so she didn’t see it.

Deadshot found what he was looking for: a device made to jumpstart any vehicle. He placed it against the ignition and it sent a shock through the car’s engine. Before long, that rumble rang through the air and Deadshot put his foot down. The car jerked forward and accelerated down the street, leaving the wreckage of the small village behind. He heard gunshots, but none of them reached. He was already gone. Looking behind him, he saw the girl holding on for dear life, despite being strapped in with the seatbelt.

“Do khan? Mi akka do khan?”

“I have no idea what you’re saying, girl,” Deadshot replied.

He probably could have figured it out, if he wanted to. Deadshot wasn’t dumb. But he was far too busy trying to figure out where to go from here. There was sand and hills for as far as his scope would let him see. Well. He’d have to deal with that bridge when he reached it, he supposed. For now, all Deadshot knew was that he was out of the village and away from the separatist soldiers that had come so close to killing him. And the girl in the back seat was now—

The car bumped against something and then was hurled into the air from a massive blast.

It was upturned and Deadshot was forced to hold onto the wheel, bracing himself for the impact as they rolled across the dirt. He tried to see what had happened to the girl, but there was little chance of that, now. The pain wracked his entire body now, not just his arm. Sand filled his vision. It wasn’t until the van had finally come to a stop that the world focused and went back to normal. Well, relatively. Up felt like down and down felt like up. Deadshot tried moving his neck, but found that it hurt too much. But from his vision, he could see the small body of the girl, half-buried in the sand. Was she dead?

She couldn’t be. Because he heard her voice ask, “…do aman..?”

He wasn’t going to find out then and there.

The black world became even darker as unconsciousness took him.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _

Deadshot woke with his eyes still closed.

He heard voices chattering at his side, but was still too drowsy to make out any particular words. Slowly, but surely, however, they came back to him. They were talking medical jargon, the type that Deadshot had gotten very used to hearing. Broken bones. Internal bleeding. All that. So, when at last he opened his eyes, he wasn’t surprised to see that he was in a hospital room, artificial light blaring against his eyes. The smell of medicine and anti-bacterial liquids filled his nose. When he came to, the nurses beside him, a man and a woman in green scrubs, walked over and placed hands on his arms. They didn’t look alarmed. Instead, they had smiles on their faces, stretching ear to ear.

“Let me guess,” Deadshot sighed, his throat parched and dry. It felt like forever since he’d last spoken. For all he knew, it could’ve been. He had no way of knowing how long he’d been out. And the chances were these nurses weren’t going to tell him. So instead of asking about what he didn’t know, he asked about what he did: “I’m in Belle Reve?”

“Yes you are, Lawton,” a familiar voice said. Deadshot’s eyes darted to the side of his room and saw Amanda Waller pushing through the door. Looking as professional and smart as ever. And just as snide. Having someone’s life in your hands would do that to a person, Deadshot figured. “And in one piece, too.”

“Could be the drugs,” Deadshot commented, noting the drip feed in his arm, “but you almost sound relieved. You know. For a person who had a bomb planted in my brain.”

“You had us worried there. And besides,” Waller shrugged, her dark skin creasing as she smiled. It looked like she had never done it before in her life and her face didn’t know how to cope. “There are always more jobs to do. You’ll have one waiting for you when you’re ready.”

“Wait,” Deadshot said, calling after her. As his focus came back to him, so did the memories. He remembered the bombs dropping from the plane. He remembered running for his life. And then he remembered running for her life. “There was a girl.”

The smile dimmed on her face. So she wasn’t entirely heartless. That was news to Deadshot. Waller replied, in a sombre voice, “Dead. We buried her in the desert.”

“Makes you wonder, don’t it?” Deadshot chuckled, leaning back at his pillow. He tried moving his hands, but saw that they were clasped in leather shackles against the bed.

“Wonder what?” Waller inquired.

“Hmph,” he snorted, shaking his head. “Nothing.”
Outstanding Marvel Team Up - your favourite heroes (and villains) all in one fan fic!

Joined: 03 Oct 2013, 20:56

20 May 2016, 20:32 #18

Does anyone have any ideas for a new Fan-Fiction Awards Signature Banner? I could possibly come up with something, but it probably would be substandard.

Joined: 21 Dec 2013, 01:44

22 May 2016, 20:25 #19

Big Thunder! @ May 20 2016, 02:32 PM wrote: Does anyone have any ideas for a new Fan-Fiction Awards Signature Banner? I could possibly come up with something, but it probably would be substandard.
I'll have more time first in June, will try some ideas until then

Eternal Nightmare
Joined: 21 Jun 2008, 01:11

29 May 2016, 12:01 #20

Are we able to vote now?




Joined: 21 Dec 2013, 01:44

31 May 2016, 21:08 #21

Eternal Nightmare @ May 29 2016, 06:01 AM wrote: Are we able to vote now?
Hey Eternal, I PMed my votes to BT...

Doc Omega
Living Tribunal
Doc Omega
Living Tribunal
Joined: 14 Jul 2008, 09:24

31 May 2016, 22:29 #22

ewkada @ May 31 2016, 05:08 PM wrote:
Eternal Nightmare @ May 29 2016, 06:01 AM wrote: Are we able to vote now?
Hey Eternal, I PMed my votes to BT...
I did as well


Eternal Nightmare
Joined: 21 Jun 2008, 01:11

31 May 2016, 22:47 #23

Doc Omega @ May 31 2016, 04:29 PM wrote:
ewkada @ May 31 2016, 05:08 PM wrote:
Eternal Nightmare @ May 29 2016, 06:01 AM wrote: Are we able to vote now?
Hey Eternal, I PMed my votes to BT...
I did as well
Same here.




Joined: 03 Oct 2013, 20:56

31 May 2016, 23:58 #24

Eternal Nightmare @ May 29 2016, 08:01 AM wrote: Are we able to vote now?

Sorry, everybody, but the last couple weeks have been horrendous for me. I was hoping to get a chapter written and in for this contest, but things didn't work out. So far I've gotten three voters. I need a few more.

Joined: 03 Oct 2013, 20:56

01 Jun 2016, 00:05 #25

This month's entries:

Doc Omega's The 13

Eternal Nightmare's Peter Pan and the Pirates: The Cat's Eye

Ewkada's unnamed

Darktruth's Blake and Gwynn Investigations: Issue 1 - Case of the Golden Mirror (Part 1)

xMatt's Tales from the DC Universe #1 - Deadshot in “How to Survive, When There Are So Many Ways to Die”